


In Sickness And In Health (As Well As Just Being An Asshole)

by ThoseFiveChicks



Category: Maggot Boy
Genre: Chainey is an excellent boyfriend, Davey's just throwing up, Established boyfriends, Hardcore fluff, Human AU, M/M, Sick snuggles, Yaaaay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1192869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoseFiveChicks/pseuds/ThoseFiveChicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Davey can be a jerk when he's sick. Luckily, Chainey's used to that the rest of the time as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness And In Health (As Well As Just Being An Asshole)

It was late when Chainey knocked on Davey’s front door– purple and black had started streaking the sky behind the darkened brick buildings. The teen shifted from foot to foot– to be honest, he didn’t know why he was bothering to drop by. It wasn’t like he lived too far away or anything– a block over, maybe, if he rounded up– but the last time he’d been standing on this front step it hadn’t exactly ended pleasantly.

Suffice it to say, Davey had _not_ responded well to the chicken noodle soup.

_“Davey–”_

_“No. Fuck no, Chainey, I’m not_ sick _, okay?”_

_“You were out of school and your brother said–”_

_“Oh, and you wouldn’t take a day off if you got the chance? So I’ve got a fever, so what? Now get_ out _. Of my_ house _.”_

Chainey had found himself on the receiving end of a slamming front door for the third time that week. Considering that it had only been Wednesday, he figured that was probably some sort of record. It was also the first time that his boyfriend had ever locked him out of his house, and if the scowl on Davey’s face had been any indicator he was _not_ going to be welcome back anytime soon.

But here he was anyway, two days later, back again to check up on Davey, probably just _asking_ to get the door slammed in his face _again_.

This was what he got for trying to be helpful– one of these days he was really going to have to start remembering that Davey considered any slight insinuation of him not being an entirely invincible man-bro to be a deadly offense. Even _acknowledging_ the fact that he was sick was asking for it, showing up with a _soup thermos_. . .

Bluh. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Chainey lifted his hand, knocking once more, and this time he received a response, although not a particularly favorable one.

“If you come back here _one more time_ , I swear on _all that is holy_ –”

The door was yanked open to reveal, _not_ Davey, but an extremely agitated younger sibling instead. Parker, who Chainey had never seen even raise his voice before, was holding the door like he was entirely prepared to smash it into Chainey’s face.

The senior jumped, the look in PJ’s eyes knocking him slightly off-kilter, before the brunette fully registered the person standing in the doorway and all the annoyance rushed out of him like air out of a particularly shredded balloon.

“. . .oh,” he said, then sighed. “Sorry, Chainey, I thought it was someone else.”

Chainey shrugged, working the shock out of his system. “That’s okay, but. . . jesus, Parker, who did you think it _was?_ ”

PJ chuckled dryly, leaning against the doorframe to let Chainey by and shutting the door softly behind him. “Nobody. It’s just that Owen’s been taking full advantage of the fact that Davey’s out of commission to bug me every chance he gets.”

Chainey froze halfway up the stairs– the front door of Davey’s house led directly to a landing– and turned abruptly to face Parker. “Out of _commission?_ Two days ago he was up and walking!”

“He got pretty sick around yesterday. . . afternoon. . .” PJ trailed off. Chainey had already disappeared down the hallway to Davey’s room.

After some deliberation, he turned around and headed downstairs to the basement, where he had every intention of staying. With headphones on. And the volume turned all the way up.

* * *

Davey did _not_ look good.

Wait, no, scratch that, Davey looked perfectly fine, hot even, if you were into people who were pale and cold and looked like they’d been dead for a while. So, basically if you were a Twilight fanatic.

If you were Chainey, however, you’d be freaking the fuck out because you’d never seen your boyfriend look like this, not ever, not even after he’d almost been hit by a bus while he was out skateboarding and he’d returned, joking and posturing about how _awesome_ he was for being able to dodge a _bus_ on a _skateboard_ but also pale and shaking and you could _tell_ how scared he’d been and. . .

Chainey shuddered. The door shut quietly behind him and he sank down next to Davey’s bed, arms crossed over the covers and chin resting on top of them. He stared absently at Davey, watching as his closed eyelids twitched and his mouth formed half-words. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d seen Davey asleep– at sleepovers, in school assemblies, in the back of his car as he drove him home from another wild soccer championship after-party– but he’d never seen Davey’s sleep look so. . . troubled.

“You’re not sick, huh?” Chainey whispered, then sighed. He could be in for a _long_ wait– and he definitely didn’t want to wake Davey up, not when sleeping was exactly the thing that was going to make Davey feel _better_.

So, of course, just as Chainey was about to drift off himself– narcolepsy, gotta love the bastard– Davey’s mouth curled up into a half-snarl and he opened his eyes. After a moment of staring at the ceiling, his gaze drifted over to the boy curled up next to his bed.

Chainey yawned, sitting up. “Hey–” he began, but stopped as Davey sat halfway up, one of his hands slipping from under the covers to curl over his own mouth.

“ _Bathroom,_ ” Davey managed, “ _Now_.”

There were a number of things Chainey had hoped to never have to do in his life, and one of them was helping Davey out of his bedroom and two doors down the hall to watch him collapse onto the floor and begin gagging over the toilet. But here he was, and there was Davey, and all he could really do was follow his boyfriend across the tile floor, putting a hand on his shoulder and feeling the shudders through Davey’s thin pajama top.

“Oh, _Davey_. . .” he murmured, and did what most people did when faced with a sick boyfriend– traced little circles over his back and shoulderblades and generally felt kind of useless.

“I. . . hate. . . being. . . _sick_. . .” Davey said, and he was putting a lot more weight against Chainey than anyone who could properly sit up would. Chainey scooped up the towel that had been left on the floor nearby, probably for this very purpose, and handed it to the brunette, watching as he wiped his mouth and handed it back.

“So. . . this’s been you for the past two days, huh?” Chainey asked, fidgety and itching to do _something_ to make all this better. But there wasn’t anything _to_ do– Davey was sick, and would continue to be so until he got better on his own, no Chainey required.

“Yup,” Davey muttered. “Pass out, wake up, _throw_ up, pass right back out again. It’s just that stomach bug that’s been going around, but. . .” Davey shrugged, train of thought apparently lost, and let himself sink the rest of the way into Chainey’s arms. “God _damn_ you’re warm.”

“And you’re freezing.” Chainey smiled ruefully. It was the pajamas that were most telling of how sick Davey really was– not the cold skin, not the paleness, not even the vomiting. Everyone had that pair of PJs that fit, that weren’t horrifically ugly or anything, but nevertheless were stiff and uncomfortable from not being worn and only got dragged out when the favored ratty sweatpants and t-shirt had gotten puke on them. Probably the worst part of being sick was wearing clothes that just weren’t fully _yours_.

And the barfing. That had to suck too.

“Let’s get you back to bed.” And, for the first time ever, Davey actually allowed Chainey to pick him up without even attempting to protest– he just closed his eyes and let the older teen carry him to his room. There was nothing like a virus to sand the edges off someone’s personality.

That didn’t necessarily mean they were better like that, though.

Chainey carefully placed Davey on his bed, tugging the covers up over his shoulders and absently smoothing them out along the edges. He was about to stand up and go– it looked like Davey was asleep again, and he really _did_ need to get home at some point– but as he started to rise, one of Davey’s hands snaked out from under the covers and caught at Chainey’s sleeve, his eyes opening halfway as he stared up at Chainey through his lashes. If Chainey had wanted to, he could’ve pulled away with no effort at all– Davey’s grip was weak, and his arm was shaking– but instead he dropped out of his half-standing position and sat lightly on the edge of Davey’s bed.

Davey muttered something that vaguely resembled ‘don’t go,’ and Chainey made a snap decision. Tomorrow was the weekend. He could stay the night.

He lay down next to his boyfriend, gently breaking his grip on his sleeve so he could tangle their fingers together. Davey turned to look at him, eyes starting to drift shut again, and Chainey reached out with his free hand to brush the damp brown hair from his forehead.

“S’okay. I’m not gonna leave,” Chainey murmured, and Davey drifted off with a smile on his face.

He threw up three more times that night, but Chainey still stayed. PJ opened the bedroom door the next morning to find his brother and his boyfriend still curled up together under the covers.


End file.
